Rim of Africa: Day 5

Day 5: Welbedacht to Bokkveldskloof

Photo: Galeo Saintz

Not long after we've left camp, but long enough for the water basin to no longer freeze over again once your hands are washed, we pass the pool near Driehoek. It is not an easy pool to simply walk past, as we discovered last year. I will not be the one to suggest it this time, but I am very happy when Linda does. A day that starts with a swim in a pool like this, can only become one of the very best of days.

Over the river we gather to marvel at a dung beetle. It doesn't so much as pause in its industriousness, does not for a moment hesitate to question the value of its work. At Eikeboom, something in the soil at my feet catches my eye. It is a coin, worn and thin - a 1942 South African tikkie, with a protea on the front. I wonder at how long it has lain buried there. I wonder at what brought it to the surface for me to find.

All of this feeds into the poem that comes to me as we walk silently up the track into Tierkloof,

Rim of Africa: Day 2

Day 2: Pakhuis to Brugkraal

Photo: Adele Labuscagne

We are descending the pass with Heuningvlei in the valley below. It is warm. I can feel the salt on my skin from the uphill behind us. I have been thinking about time, out here on the trail, and about the feeling of moving into the wide open space around us. The track curves and runs south of some towering rocks that throw welcome shade across it. The little stream, that was dry in January, rushes below. I pause here and the group slowly gathers as each one arrives, stops, takes off their backpack, settles in, and stares outwards. The stream and the birds are part of the silence. All else is as still as the ancient cedars in the rocky koppies above us. My poem is ready:

Rim of Africa: starting the journey

October is Rim of Africa month for me. In October the Cape Fold Mountains are at their best. The daytime temperatures are not yet too hot, the night times no longer too cold, the water flows strongly in each stream and the fynbos is ablaze with its diversity of flower and scent.

Being a trail leader on the Rim of Africa mountain passage is, every year, an extraordinary experience for me and an amazing privilege.

For my Father on his 80th birthday

Ernie didn't want gifts. He doesn't need things. But as his son, I wanted to give him something. I wanted to give him something that is worthy of this milestone, and worthy of this man. And it couldn't be green bananas. What I decided on were words. And so I have written one of my pieces for my dad, for this day. That is my gift to you, Ernie:

Tide & Time

I am old enough, now, to remember things that no longer exist in my world, or that have been irrevocably changed: silver metal ticky boxes (as my mother used to call them) with concertina doors, and heavy, black telephones inside that actually required you to turn a dial; military conscription; my mother herself. All of these were once a part of my life.

Into unknown depths, again

Last night I listened to my friend Rob tell of a dream. The dream is simple. He is standing on the shore when he is engulfed by a huge wave crashing over him. Rob, like me, is in mid-life. For as long as I have known him, I have admired his engagement with life. Enthusiastically direct, incredibly honest and simultaneously simple and profound.

Boulder hopping through time

It has become something of a spontaneous custom in our family to have a short de-brief after a particular experience. Phoebe is often the initiator of these. At eight she takes on a family facilitator role with proficiency. "So how did that make you feel?", she might ask. Often her brief is, "What was the best part of your...?" and sometimes it includes, "What was the worst part?" We take time to go around listening to each one's input, and Phoebe ensures that each of us is fairly heard. On this occasion, around our large kitchen table with its exquisite cypress grain, we each have two turns, a chance to name the two best things from our weekend in the mountains.